


Night-time Encounters

by ms_cheesecake



Series: Night-time Encounters Series [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: English National Team, English Premier League, Everton F.C., Falling In Love, Football, Friends With Benefits, Injury, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Slash, Manchester City, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-01-16 10:19:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18519451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_cheesecake/pseuds/ms_cheesecake
Summary: John and Jordan have a complicated relationship.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is the first bit of creative writing I've done in around two years - so please be kind! A friend asked me to write something with this ship for her birthday, and this is what I came up with.

He thought about rain; the silky wetness against his skin, that clung to his hair, that squelched in his socks. He thought about sunlight; the golden beams that danced on the ground in the summer time, warming the grass beneath his feet, warming his heart as it pounded in his chest. He thought about wind; the force of the air cutting through him like a sharpened blade, making him shudder and hiss; cold and unpleasant. But more than anything, he thought about him... broad shoulders, long fingers, gun metal blue eyes, soft skin against his own. He thought about Jordan the most. It was almost as though his image was imprinted on his mind, his name burnt into his mouth, a stain he couldn't wash out. John felt his heart race and thunder every time he crossed his mind; it hammered against his ribs, like a little bird beating its wings against the bars of its cage, fighting to be free.

He thought about his hair, short and fair and coarse beneath the palms of his hands. He thought about his chest, firm and brawny and pallid next to his own; his nipples soft and small and crimson in colour. He thought about his mouth, thin and straight and beautiful when it cracked into smile; the taste of mint and breakfast juices in his kisses; the gaps between his teeth. He thought about the thin rattle of his breath against his chest as he slept, his head tucked carefully into the crook of John's neck and his legs sprawled over his own. He thought about his hands, fingers long and skilled, his grip tight and more satisfying than anything John had experienced ever before.

The sex was like breathing. They both knew they did it, but neither of them ever spoke of it. Jordan refused to touch him, talk to him, glance at him outside of their night-time encounters. John could never decide if it was out of denial and disgust or merely a lack of desire to. He thought about his skull... cracking it at the base, cautiously separating the bones and letting the brains spill out onto the floor before him, gathering the thoughts one by one and gradually unpicking what happened inside it.

Jordan was his when darkness fell. When a shadowy haze settled over the day like a silk scarf, Jordan was his to claim. But he longed for him in the daytime, to lay next to him on green, balmy grass on scorching summer days, for him to kiss him good morning and not only goodnight, to laugh with him gaily and to embrace him without the terror of being shoved away abruptly. He craved to tell Jordan he wanted more, needed more, or wanted nothing. Watching him sneak out into the stillness of the night when he believed John to be slumbering made his soul ache and throb like an immense, painful blood blister. He rehearsed the conversation in his head in a loop, rephrasing and re-writing his script again and again. But when Jordan was there in front of him... John melted; the thoughts drifting out of his mind and floating aimlessly into the distance, his conscious focused on nothing but the warmth and the strength of Jordan's body coiled around his own.

He had tried to turn him away, to tell him 'no, not tonight' when he called, but each time he failed ignominiously. He tried hard to disregard the way Jordan made him feel, made him think, made him soften, but the feelings were too intense... they growled and gnawed at his insides like a live, livid animal in his belly every time he tried to push them aside. The thoughts of Jordan irritated and taunted him every minute of every hour of every day; a fever he couldn't sweat out.  
The day thinned. John watched intently from his bedroom window as the sky darkened and a murky, dusky blue settled above the treetops, then leisurely faded into violet, then a deep shade of grey, and then black. The illuminated digits on the screen of his mobile phone reminded him of the late hour... but he didn't sleep. He stayed up waiting, pacing and trembling, anticipating the call, or the knock at the door. He knew he'd come. He always did on the day of a match.

It came on the strike of midnight. John felt a knot form in his stomach, the familiar cocktail of nervous tension and exhilaration bubbling inside him. He disregarded the speech once again, mentally tearing up the pages and screwing the remnants of the writings up into a tiny ball. He wanted nothing more than the feeling of Jordan's chest, warm and white, pressed against his own. There was no time for talking.

Jordan entered without a word. He was enraged. John could tell. He kissed him forcefully, and John almost felt his lips bruise with the vigour. He wrapped his hands around Jordan's neck instinctively, feeling his pulse racing and thrashing against his skin on the inside, though John wasn't sure if it was lust and anticipation or the sheer fury he felt whenever Everton lost a match.

Jordan thrust John against the wall vehemently, and pressed his body over him hard, holding him still with his hands and trapping him beneath him. The sex was rough. But John didn't care, as long as he was there. He sunk his teeth into his lower lip, feeling the flesh swell and split as red squiggled out. He studied John's face for a moment, ensuring he hadn't crossed the invisible boundary. John panted for a brief moment, his gaze fixed on the floor, shock cursing through his veins like electricity. He turned to Jordan and a little grin spread across his lips, answering his silent query.

Jordan ran his lanky fingers through John's soft hair. They stared at each other for an instant, and John noticed the wild, menacing look in Jordan's blue eyes for the first time that evening. A red balloon burst inside his chest. He couldn't decide if it frightened or electrified him. He concluded that it was both.  
"C'mon," Jordan breathed, angling his body towards the staircase, expecting John to follow.

John wiped the blood away from his lip with the back of his hand, and gawked at the scarlet smear it left. The sight was sobering. John realised that it was only ever with Jordan that this level of intensity felt good, felt right, felt satisfying. Jordan was the only person he would trust to handle him in this manner without injuring him, or stepping past the lines he'd drawn out for them without thought.

John lunged forwards, reaching out with his left hand, balling it into a fist but grasping nothing but the air. He tried again, seizing and tugging at the sleeve of Jordan's shirt. Jordan gaped at him in confusion.

"I need to say something."


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jordan has a whole lot of questions... mainly for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you will see, this chapter recounts the same events as part one, but this time, Jordan's thoughts/feelings are the focus rather than John's. I initially posted this as a separate fic called 'A Long Drive' but I decided to merge it with the main body of the work as the next part might not make as much sense if you haven't read this! Enjoy :)

It was dark by the time Jordan was unlocking his car, climbing inside and slamming the door shut with a ear-splitting bang. The evening was a cold one; a frost had settled on the grass, glistening like wet rocks in the sunlight on the beach. The air outside was icy; the kind of cold that stung exposed skin, turning it crimson and making it throb. He let out a slow, shaky breath as he turned the key in the ignition, listening to the engine rumble and rattle as it kicked in. He noticed that his breath clouded in front of him as he exhaled gradually, watching as the grey mist twisted and twirled in front of him, slowly fading away.

He rested his palms on the steering wheel and started to flex his fingers, trying to stretch some of the tension out of his body. He folded them down, gripping the steering wheel tightly; knuckles white and heart thumping heavily. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and swallowing hard. He turned his head and glanced back at the house once again, watching fixedly as a bright, yellow light flickered on the bedroom where Megan was readying herself to go to sleep... alone. He felt his stomach tense and contract below his ribs, the contents forcing its way back into his gullet, the repulsive taste of sick swirling in his mouth as a wave of guilt and shame ripped through him. He considered getting out of the car for a moment, re-tracing the steps he'd made just minutes ago, swinging the front door open, scrambling back up the stairs and laying down beside her on the white bed clothes and drifting away with the softness of the sheets beneath his unclothed back. But he didn't do that. He pushed the handbrake down and pressed his foot against the gas pedal, letting the car roll forwards slowly. One more time wouldn't hurt.

Jordan drove quickly, barely considering the direction he was driving in as he manoeuvred the car through the darkening lanes with the soft, orange glow of the street lamps as the only source of light he had to guide him. He swerved around another roundabout, taking the third exit without any deliberation. But he knew where he was going. John's house wasn't close, but he knew the route now, he knew it better than he knew the sound of his own son's cry and he hated himself as he pondered that thought. He gritted his teeth and pressed the pad of his foot harder against the gas pedal, the sound of the engine roaring and thundering as he did so distracting him from the discomfort of contemplation. Why did he keep doing this?

He thought about John's face and he felt his heart begin to thud hard in his chest, smacking forcefully against his ribs and Jordan almost felt it bruise them from the inside. He thought about his periwinkle eyes; glassy orbs embedded in the softness of his pallid face. He thought about the prickly roughness of the stubble on his jaw as he traced his fingers over the lines there as they kissed. He thought about his lips, thick and crimson, the kind he'd always liked. Was he attracted to John?

He thought about the feel of John's heart hammering against him as he laid his body over his; chest to chest... heart to heart. He wished sometimes that he could stay there for a while, just marvelling in the feel of John's warmth so close to his own, his skin smooth and hot next to his. They were always rough, and Jordan thought that it was the reason he always liked it... no limits, no restrictions, just lust and need and animalistic desire. There was never the need to be affectionate or tender; he did what he needed and then he left.

But sometimes, it pained him to walk away from John in the dead of the night, watching him sleeping soundly and sprawled on the mattress through the crack of light that peaked in through the gaps in the curtains as he disappeared through the open door. He didn't know when it had started, when he'd started to slip, but his usually steady step had faltered somewhere between their first encounter and now. He knew that sometimes, he wanted to stay now... kiss him gently and hold him tightly and whisper into his ear until he drifted into a deep, restful sleep in the space next to him. But John didn't want that. He'd never wanted that. Did he love John? He'd tell himself he didn't, he couldn't, because he wasn't gay, and because he loved Megan and he loved their child and he'd try and try again to convince himself of that as he lay crying quietly on the bed next to her for the rest of the night, muscles throbbing and burning from the exertions of rough sex, desperately trying to muster up another excuse as to why his eyes were rimmed-red and puffy and mottled again in time for her waking up.

He pulled up on John's drive and felt the sweat begin to trickle down the back of his neck, the strange mix of exhilaration, lust, guilt and self-loathing pouring out from his body and pooling at the top of the collar of his polo neck shirt. He considered turning back for a moment, realising that it wasn't too late, too late to change his mind, to put an end to this and stitch up the wounds he'd slashed into his own skin. He exhaled slowly and as he noticed the light still turned on in the hallway of the upper floor of the house... John was awake, ready and waiting for him. He licked his lips and felt a wave arousal rush through him as he thought about John, staying up, anticipating his call... wanting him. John was reliable. Jordan knew he could count on him... did he need John?

Jordan raced up to John's door, lust and desire for him overtaking any thoughts of turning away. The door opened almost immediately after he knocked, and Jordan realised that John had heard his car roll onto the gravel outside and that he'd been waiting for it, excited and stimulated and ready for him. He studied John's face, pupils pulsating and lips slightly parted, and Jordan couldn't wait a second longer. He kissed him vigorously, pressing his back against the closest surface, tracing his fingers down his chest and fiddling with the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel his bare body against his own. But he couldn't be too gentle. He parted his mouth suddenly, and bit down on John's lower lip before he could pull away, listening as John moaned in response, his body humming in his arms, thrusting his hips forwards, desperate to feel the slightest bit of friction there. Jordan held on, increasing the force until he started to feel hot, red liquid begin to discharge from the flesh, registering the taste of metal in his mouth. He pulled away, staring at John in alarm, ready to apologise profusely. But John smirked in response, and Jordan realised that he'd liked it and that he only wanted more. This couldn't wait any longer.

He turned away, heading to the stairs, the route to John's bedroom almost as familiar as his own reflection. But John stalled him.

"I need to say something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the ending seemed a little rushed there! But I figured you already know what happens from part one so... :P Hope you enjoyed :) Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally gets to have the conversation he's been wanting... but will it end well?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long! Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Couple of warnings:  
> \- This is sad, really sad. But the story isn't over yet... ;)  
> \- Dubious consent (it's not intended to be, but it could be interpreted that way, so thought I'd flag it up).

He finally emerged from the bathroom. Jordan allowed himself to gape at him for a brief moment, watching him move hesitantly in the crack of gentle light that leaked into the bedroom through the gap in the door to the ensuite. He admired John's soft but somehow masculine facial features; the splash of angry, scarlet spots on the ridge of his jaw; the smooth, milky whiteness of his bare skin and the contrast of the darkness of the faces and flowers inked hastily onto it. He watched as John slowly slid his underwear off, tossing the grey, cotton shorts into the laundry basket and carefully pulling out a different pair from the chest of drawers beside him. He slipped the fresh fabric over his hips slowly, re-covering himself, still half hard but cleaned up. 

Jordan was already fully dressed, his shirt buttoned tightly around his shoulders, his belt fastened and his shoe laces tied. John avoided his gaze, and Jordan winced as he sensed guilt beginning to ripple and rotate in the pit of his stomach again. John paced towards the bed, and Jordan savoured the last opportunity he had that night to see John's unclothed body clearly, watching as he moved out of the slight slip of light entering the room and back into the blackness that consumed it. He wondered if this would be the last time. It had to be the last time, he thought. John perched himself on the edge of the bed steadily, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he rolled onto his side and curled his large body into a tiny ball. John looked smaller, thinner, frailer than normal. Jordan averted his gaze, unable to watch the damage he'd caused unravelling in front him. John let out a strangled sob, and he couldn't tell if Jordan didn't hear it or had ignored it. He decided the latter was more likely. 

"You going then?" John said. He tried to hide the pain in his voice as the words tumbled out, but he failed ignominiously.  
"Get home safe, yeah," he added. He didn't wait for Jordan to answer the question. 

Jordan gulped hard. He needed to leave, he knew he needed to leave... but he couldn't. He watched as John quivered and whimpered on the bed, his hands balled into fists as he hugged his knees tightly into the firmness of his chest. Jordan felt the urge to lay down next to him, wrap his arms around his juddering body, trace the bumps in his spine with his fingers and kiss his crimson lips until the crying and the pain stopped. Jordan felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest as the thought passed through his mind, beating against his ribs, pain flowing speedily through his torso with every strike. He pushed the thought away, closing his eyes and thinking hard about his baby's small, smiling face; the happiness he felt swelling inside him like a giant party balloon every time the tiny stubs of his fingers brushed his palms. He couldn't keep taking this risk. 

He opened his eyes slowly, but felt the agony of confliction run through him once more as he was again met with the sight of John, blubbering like a baby himself on the soft, cream sheets of his bed. He couldn't leave. 

"You... okay?" Jordan stuttered. 

"Fine," John managed through gritted teeth. 

Jordan had refused John's attempts to have a meaningful conversation with him earlier on that evening, shaking his head and breathing 'later' into John's mouth as he kissed him again, pulling John up the stairs and letting the scene replay. John scolded himself for allowing it, for not persisting, for ending up here again, curled up alone in bed with blood dribbling down the back of his thigh and feeling used and unwanted. 

Jordan allowed his eyes to flit around the room for a moment, trying to fathom his next move until his gaze settled on the laundry basket in the corner, fixed on the pair of grey coloured boxers John had discarded in there earlier on. He noticed a trail of spots on back of them, marking a path from John's entrance to the midpoint of his thigh. Jordan narrowed his eyes to make out their colour in the limited light of John's bedroom... red. Jordan's chest tightened and his eyes widened as the realisation struck him. He bit down on his lower lip, trying to trap sobs and gasps inside his mouth. He moved towards where John was lying, hands shaking and heart pumping hard and loud in his ears. He knew he'd been rough... but he hadn't intended to hurt John.

"Are you... bleeding?" Jordan said slowly, wincing as his mouth found its way around the final word. 

"A little," John mumbled.

He allowed his head to turn towards him for a moment, raising it from the smoothness of the pillow and looking at Jordan with sad, soft eyes. Jordan could have sworn that there were tears in the rims, but John felt a slight surge of delight run over his body as he observed the guilty look plastered on Jordan's face. 

"I'm sorry," was all Jordan managed in response. 

"Are you now?" John sighed, frustrated by the lack of sincerity in Jordan's apology. 

Jordan ran the palms of his hands over his features a few times, feelings of remorse and terror and shame swirling in his belly like thick, hot coffee. He settled on the bed next to John, and he flinched a little as he felt the mattress plunge further as Jordan sat. He rested a hand on John's foot; a feeble attempt to offer him the comfort and affection he knew he was craving. 

"You wanted to say something earlier," Jordan breathed. 

John was quiet for a moment. 

"You said you didn't want to hear it," John shrugged. 

Jordan's brow puckered. 

"No I didn't, I said later," he said, trying to remain calm, but John detected the hint of irritation and defensiveness in his tone. 

"Exactly," John snapped.

Jordan slowed at the non-sequitur, as though someone had offered him ice cream but proceeded to give him a choice between tuna and chilli-con-carne flavour. He levered himself up from the bed, wondering down the winding staircase, his trainers squeaking against the carpet in John's hallway. John squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to stop any tears from leaking out, waiting for the sound of the front door slamming shut and the roar of the engine of Jordan's car just outside; the sounds of him disappearing once again... but they didn't come. 

Jordan strolled into John's kitchen, realising that he'd never actually entered this room of the house, even though he'd visited John during these hours of the day more times than he was comfortable admitting, even to himself. He scanned the room quickly, somewhat annoyed by the unnecessarily large size of it, and located the kettle on the work surface to the left of him. He opened and closed several of John's cupboards, eventually finding and picking out two plain mugs and resting them on the side, placing a tea bag from the jar next to the kettle into each one. He flicked it on and waited for it to boil, trying hard to steady his breath. When it was ready - when Jordan was ready - he lifted them up and began to pad back to the bedroom. He needed to hear what John had to say. The least he owed him was a conversation. He took the first step of the stairs, the floorboards groaning and grumbling under his weight. He focused on the mugs of tea in his hands, careful not to spill any of it onto the cream of John's carpet. But he was suddenly met with the sight of two large, bare feet in front of him. 

"What are you doing?" John half laughed. 

"I made us tea," Jordan shrugged, handing one of the mugs to John. 

"Why? Aren't you going?" John questioned, confusion and hope evident in his tone. 

"I wanted to hear what you wanted to say to me," Jordan said softly. 

John was silent for a beat, an unreadable expression on his pallid face. Jordan tensed, but then John nodded and motioned with his head for Jordan to go back down the stairs and into the living room. 

"Well, sit down then," John laughed, gesturing for Jordan to take his place on the right side of his sofa. 

Silence ensued, neither of them sure who should start. John took a sip of the tea that Jordan had made for him, wincing a little as the scolding liquid passed his lips. 

"Tastes like ass piss," John said, and both he and Jordan laughed a little at the insult.

He looked at Jordan hopefully, but he didn't speak. John sighed, accepting that he would have to be the one to break the awkward quiet between them. 

"Why do you keep coming here?" he began. "For that, I mean," he continued, looking up towards where the bedroom was. "Why me, Jord? Why do you come to me when you've got a girlfriend at home?" he said finally, his voice beginning to thicken. 

Jordan's gaze diverted for moment, finding the coffee table in front of them, his hands clasped together tightly, the skin taught and the knuckles a creamy white. He felt a lump form in his throat at the mention of Megan. He searched his mind for something to say, acutely aware that he was fluffing his lines, missing his cue, and that the time he had to muster a response was passing by. 

"I don't know," was all that came out. At least it was the truthful answer, he mused. 

"You must have some idea," John huffed. 

"I don't, honestly. I don't know why it started, why it continued, I don't know," Jordan repeated. 

He cast his mind back to the first time it had happened. 'It' being all he could bring himself to call what they did whenever they were alone together. He couldn't admit it. He remembered the location, some swanky hotel in central London after a national team night out, but he remembered little else... what they said, what lead to it, what happened afterwards. He couldn't decide if it was the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed that evening or time gradually layering dust over his memories. He hadn't been that drunk. He knew he hadn't been that drunk. 

"She not wanna put out now she's got her meal ticket guaranteed?" John sneered.  
He was angry now. 

Jordan rose from the sofa; bigger, stronger all of a sudden. 

"Don't fucking talk about my partner and my kid like that," he bellowed. 

Then John was standing too. 

"No? How about I talk to her instead then, about what you've been doing with me all these months?" 

Jordan's eyes softened, anger fading into fear. 

"You wouldn't," he whispered.

John softened too, because as much as he wanted to at times, Jordan was right... he wouldn't... he cared for Jordan too much to hurt and betray him in that way. 

"Just tell me, Jordan. Tell me why you're doing this," John pleaded, his voice small and shaky. 

Jordan sat down again, exhaling a long breath. 

"Me and Meg - things between us are - not good," he said slowly. 

John rolled his eyes slightly, settling into the space next to Jordan once again. Out of all the words in the English language Jordan could have chosen to describe the situation - "difficult," "tense," "hostile," "strained," - Jordan chose "not good." 

"So you started shagging me instead of trying to work things out with her," John said flatly. 

"It's not like that. Anyway, what about your girlfriend, John?" Jordan snapped. 

John rolled his eyes again. 

"Well there's never one here whenever you come knocking, is there? Where on earth do you think I've been hiding her, Jordan?" John almost laughed. 

Jordan looked at him blankly. 

"I broke up with her - speed up, Jordan, for fuck's sake." 

"I'm sorry," Jordan said softly. 

Jordan's mind began to race. Had John split from his girlfriend for him? When did it happen? Did she know about them? 

"Why don't you just do the same, if you don't love her anymore," John shrugged. 

Jordan didn't deny it. His tea tasted more unpleasant and more bitter with every sip. He shook his head as though he was about to explain a complex mathematical problem to a child, a concept so far outside of its capacity to understand that trying to break it down would be useless and ineffectual. 

"I can't, John. I can't do that," he said firmly. 

"Where does that leave me then? What am I then, Jord, a means to an end?" 

John was shouting now, but he wasn't angry, and Jordan knew that. His heart was breaking; Jordan could see the pain spreading over the expression on his face. He fought the urge to hug him, kiss him, do anything he could think of to stop the pain he could almost feel swelling inside John's heart. Maybe John did have feelings for him after all, Jordan thought. Perhaps tiny seeds of emotion, of attraction, of love even, had been sprouting in John's mind without him realising. Or maybe he just hated the thought that he'd been used - or that someone else was more important than him; better than him even. Jordan couldn't tell. But he decided he didn't need to know... not now at least. 

"We can't do this anymore. This was the last time, John," he said thickly. 

Jordan paced out of the room, moving past John without so much as a final glance at him, scampering through the hall and towards John's front door with tears tumbling out of his eyes and streaming down his cheeks. He made sure to make them silent. 

John stalled for a brief moment, trying to process what Jordan had just said to him. But then he ran, heart thumping hastily in his chest as he chased him, watching as he disappeared through the door and onto his driveway. He felt a sharp sting and a second dribble of blood below... but he didn't care. 

"Jord, wait," he yelled as Jordan climbed back into his car, turning the key in the ignition.

John registered the stench of petrol in his nostrils as Jordan's car zoomed out of view. He watched as his hands turned the steering wheel furiously, guiding the car away from the house, his face pale and tired, and he could see that he was crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've made Jordan a complete bastard - please forgive me :P


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nations League Finals are fast approaching, and John isn't sure he'll be able cope with having to face Jordan again.

He hadn't called. It had been months since Jordan had last visited John in the darkness of the first few hours of a morning, just before sunlight cut in on the day - reality interrupting them. It had been months since he'd last felt the Jordan's thin lips against his own... since their final, agonising conversation. John felt his chest tighten and close at the memory of it. He closed his eyes slowly and released a long drawn out breath, trying to blow some of the tension out of his body. His hands balled into tight fists and his heart pumped hastily as he began to recall the image of Jordan clambering into his car and speeding as far away from him as he could possibly get. He replayed Jordan's words in a loop in his mind like a stuck CD - 'we can't do this anymore.' To John's surprise, Jordan had kept by them. 

The days after that heart breaking evening had been a blur; nothing more left of them than a few splashes of hazy images and half finished sentences and rivers of tears and barely bitten toast in John's mind. Eventually, he'd decided he had to tend to the incessant buzzing of his mobile phone, unable to bare the irritating sound any longer, and sent a mass text to almost all of his contact roll stating: "I'm okay. I'll be back at work tomorrow." He hadn't bothered to read each individual message or to check each and every voicemail; they'd all contain the same message of questions about his whereabouts and feigned concern followed by offers of support he didn't want or need. He'd briefly checked who the messages had come from without opening them - the names 'Kev,' 'Raz,' 'Kyle,' and 'Leroy' flashing in dark letters on the screen - but none from Jordan. 

After that, John had tried his best to continue on as normal. He returned to training as he had promised, and aside from a lengthy, largely incoherent scolding from Pep, the session went astonishingly well. He received no punishment for his numerous no shows, excluding a verbal caution, and the others had kept their questioning to a minimum. He'd enjoyed the feelings of damp grass beneath his boots; cold, clean air in his lungs; fresh clothes against his skin; the burn and the pulse of vigorous exercise in his muscles. He'd felt the thin reins of control beneath the tips of his fingers for the first time in days - weeks even - and he drove home that evening with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and his hands tapping happily at his steering wheel to the beat of the hip-hop emanating from his car stereo. 

But the nights remained difficult to bare. He lay sprawled on his bed, staring angrily through the thin layer of ice that coated his window, wondering where Jordan was; who he was with; what he was doing. He jolted eagerly every time he heard the hum of a text notification on his phone; the thump of knuckles knocking at his door; the scrape of tyres against the gravel of his driveway, and his heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach every time he recognised the number plate at Kyle's or his sister's; every time the text had come from his Mum or Raheem - every time he realised it wasn't Jordan. 

He missed him. He didn't miss the sex - he wasn't sure he'd even enjoyed it the last time it happened - he missed Jordan. He missed the faint, lemony scent of Jordan's shower gel on his body; he missed the slight taste of bubblegum in his kisses; the sound of his ragged breath, hot and prickly against his ear as he fucked him; the feel of his ashen skin, covered in a thin layer of sweat, pressed against his own; the gun metal blue of his eyes. 

John dreaded the next time he'd have to face Jordan; unsure if he'd be met with the urge to strike him hard in the face, marvelling in the feeling the bones of his nose cracking beneath his knuckles, or if he'd find himself melting into a stream of uncontrollable tears and nonsensical ramblings. John was heart-broken by Jordan's actions, but a faint ripple of fury flowed inside him too; less powerful than the sorrow but present all the same. He'd scroll over images of Jordan on social media from time to time, grinning broadly into a camera and posing with his girlfriend at friend's weddings or on an exotic beach, and John would feel his piss boil in his bladder, thinking it was cruel - to him and to her. 

He knew the time was coming. The morning frosts had melted away, exposing the brown, brittle grass beneath, and John noticed the brightening of the blue of the sky and the stickiness of the summer heat seeping in through his windows and he knew that the time was coming. Gareth Southgate would be announcing the names of the players he'd be taking to the Nations League Finals any day, and for the first time ever, John found himself hoping that he wouldn't be called. He knew that Jordan would be... and he wasn't ready. He hadn't started a game for his club in what felt like centuries, and despite the frustration it left buzzing in his belly, John was quietly happy to stay where he was - warming the bench on the side lines - hoping that he was avoiding Southgate's eye and would be told he wouldn't be expected to join the team at St. George's Park in the coming weeks. But the call came, and John had to accept, unable to muster up a believable excuse in time. He considered trying to feign an injury, but he knew he'd be checked by the medical staff and passed as fit and would have to go regardless. He had to face him. 

"Stonesy," Jordan grinned, extending a hand to John for him to shake. John flinched a little at the nickname Jordan never called him, and turned away, unable to meet his eyes. He felt the heat of rage and aggravation pooling in his stomach and purposefully squeezed Jordan's fingers a little too tightly as he took his hand into his. John didn't speak, and Jordan scowled at him slightly before he sauntered further into the room, cheerfully greeting the other players. Kyle frowned at him slightly from across the room, evidently sensing his unease, but John looked away, and Kyle politely accepted the rejection of his non-verbal offer to talk. 

How was Jordan acting so ordinary? For John, the memory of their last evening together was barely a joined wound, yet Jordan was behaving as though it was already so distant that he could barely recall it; stored on the highest, dustiest shelf of his mind. John sobbed alone in his room that evening, turning the volume of the television to the highest setting to prevent the others from detecting the sound. Jordan had tried to banter with John and had treated him just like any of the other boys for the entire day. John was confused - shaken even. Jordan knew everything about him, from how many sugars he liked in his tea to which hand he held his dick in when he pissed, and how Jordan could seemingly erase all memory of the things they'd done together wounded and infuriated him at the same time. For a moment, John even considered that he might have made or dreamt the whole thing up. 

John felt the dull ache of relentless crying in his head when he woke up the next day. He peered at his face in the bathroom mirror and found he barely recognised himself for moment; dark circles under his eyes; skin red and mottled from the streaks of tears that had dried there the evening before; exhaustion heavy in his bones. He splashed his face with cold water and ambled slowly down the stairs and into to the breakfast room. He noted the way in which the hustle of chatter in there came to a halt as soon as he stepped inside. The others stared at him in a state of shock and John felt his cheeks flush scarlet red as he began to shuffle uncomfortably from foot to foot. 

"As you were," he muttered as he strolled towards the drink choices that had been laid out neatly on a table for them, pouring himself a mug of black coffee. Kyle nodded to him from across the room as he took his place at one of the empty tables, an offer to join him, but John shook his head in response and Kyle sighed heavily. 

John managed to remain in control during the day's training, careful to avoid Jordan as often as possible. His performance was slow and sloppy during the practice match and John knew it, but he hardly cared as being sent home early due to poor shows in training and not having to go and play Portugal didn't seem like such a bad thing to him in that moment. He met Jordan's eyes as he completed a pass back to him, feeling his heart jump as he saw the tiny green flecks in the blue once again, and he found himself having to stamp down another wave of emotion. Jordan watched as a bead of sweat dribbled down John's cheek, his wavy hair damp from the heavy perspiration, lips parted as he breathed rapidly, and Jordan felt the tingle of elation; warmth - arousal - sparking in his finger tips and toes. But the image of John's pallid, tear stained face at breakfast that morning entered his mind once again and Jordan quickly felt the spark of lust flicker out; the unpleasantness of guilt and self-hate settling in his stomach once again. He asked himself how he could do this to him, but reminded himself he was doing it for his partner; for his baby; for his family. 

John hurried away again after the training session, complaining of a made up stomach ache to excuse himself from the afternoon media duties, and found himself bawling and howling into his pillow once again; pain filled noises ripping through his throat as the sound of Jordan laughing and chatting joyfully with the others rang in his ears. He'd been aware that he'd developed feelings that Jordan didn't share, but he hadn't realised that Jordan really did care so little for him. Nothing more than an convenient shag when he wanted one. John rolled over on the bed, placing a hand over the point in which the heavy feeling of sadness had settled in his chest, struggling to steady and control his breathing. He picked up his phone and grimaced slightly as the bright, blueish light flooded his tired eyes. He needed to talk to someone. 

Jordan spent his free time that evening playing card games and chatting with Chilwell and Maguire in the games room. He noticed John's absence, but he didn't question it - he didn't need to. He was making his way back to his room, the lift pinging; doors sliding open; the familiar corridor appearing in front of him, when he was met by the sight of Kyle, scowling; tattooed arms crossed over his chest, standing just outside of the door to his own room. Jordan smiled weakly and greeted him politely, slightly confused by his presence; unfazed by it nonetheless. But he felt his heart begin to pound, its sound shrill in his ears, when Kyle didn't speak or smile back - the realisation striking him like lightning. 

"What the fuck have you done?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter was kind of awful. I don't think it's my best writing, but I just wanted to get on with moving the story forward a bit. Let me know your thoughts!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How will Kyle respond to finding out about John and Jordan's relationship? What will it mean for them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of hate this but thought I'd upload anyway - I can always edit it later!
> 
> Warnings:  
> \- Graphic descriptions of (imagined) violence.

John hadn't intended to Kyle the whole truth. Although Kyle was one of the few people whom John had trusted enough to be honest with about the fact that he 'wasn't entirely straight' as he liked to phrase it, he still wasn't certain of how he'd react to a full confession of him sleeping with their goalkeeper. That much had to remain a secret. As he wiped the streaks of tears from under his eyes and the thin layer of snot from under his nose and stumbled towards Kyle's room, John had decided he'd tell him tell him that he'd been sleeping with somebody - he didn't need to specify whether they were a man or a woman - and that he'd begun to like them only to discover they didn't share his feelings and that they'd stopped contacting him. It was not the whole story, but it was close to it, and John was confident that it was enough to elicit the advice and comfort he was seeking from him. But as soon as Kyle had shut the door behind them the words began to trickle out, spreading like blood blooming in water, and John hadn't been able to plug the leak quickly enough. At first, Kyle had been silent, staring at John in a state of confusion; disbelief; disgust even. He listened to John blubbing uncontrollably, his mouth barely finding its way around the words between the sobs and gasps with his brow puckered and his lips slightly parted. But eventually, John had told him that the last time Jordan had visited him he'd been so rough that he'd bled out for days, and John spied Kyle's hands balling into fists that looked large and strong enough to punch through steel in his lap. He watched as the colour drained from his face, his expression morphing from one of shock and revulsion to one of rage. How could he? 

Kyle said very little. He allowed John to cry into his shoulder, reassuring him that he'd be alright every so often and stroking the slight covering of hair at the nape of John's neck with his thumb, meticulously planning out ways to harm Jordan - physically and emotionally - to make him regret what he'd done until he took his final breath of air into his lungs. He wouldn't let him get away with treating his friend that way. Not his best friend. He pictured Jordan in a blood of his own blood, brains splattered on the floor, the sickening odour of them the ideal fragrance for settling the score. He imagined beating him to the ground, stamping hard on his ribs, marvelling in the feeling of the air squeezing its way out of his chest and each and every tiny, white rung of fragile porcelain bone in there shattering into a thousand little segments. He envisioned kicking him hard in his side, smashing and breaking the hinge of his elbow joint, leaving deep bruising all over his body... permanent pain where the caps of his boots had struck him. He visualised piercing his skin with the sharp edge of a knife, plunging the blade into his body until he felt the parachute silk of his lung puncture, the heavy thud and thunderous drum of his heart beat faltering and failing... then he he'd dig up his rotting corpse and gleefully kill him all over again. John felt Kyle's arms tightening around his body and he sensed the sheer fury that was flowing in his veins. He begged Kyle not to say - or do - anything, assuring him that he'd just wanted to somebody to listen to him and nothing more. Kyle had nodded and promised John that he wouldn't involve himself, but John wasn't sure he trusted him, feeling the wrath burning under his skin... and he was right not to. 

Kyle pressed the door closed with the flat of his hand and turned to face Jordan, his nostrils flared and his brow lowered with rage. Jordan fish mouthed at him, scared; confused... guilty. Kyle resisted the urge to strike him, to wrap his huge hands tightly around the skin of Jordan's throat, but still... he wasted little time. 

"First things first, I want you to admit it," Kyle demanded. "I want to hear you say it." 

Jordan looked at him pleadingly, tears swelling and threatening to fall from the rims of his eyes. A wave of anger that John had told Kyle when they'd promised each other to keep it a secret only they shared rushed over him - but the feeling didn't linger. Jordan was too consumed by terror and dread to feel even a shred of any other emotion; his palms sweaty; his knees weak; his eyes wide. Jordan questioned why for a moment. Did Kyle already know that John liked men? He wondered for a moment if Kyle was referring to something else, searching the banks of his memory for some other thing he'd done that could possibly have angered him to this extent. 

"Admit what?" Jordan said, his voice nothing more than a faint rattle of breath.

Kyle forced himself to stamp down another wave of fury, feeling it burn ferociously in his belly. 

"Tell me what you did to John," Kyle bellowed. 

Jordan flinched at the volume of Kyle's voice, the intensity of his anger steadily increasing. Jordan was trembling; arms coiled protectively over his body. He knew that Kyle was easily irritated, but he'd never thought that Kyle was really capable of harming anybody. He realised that he'd been wrong. Was Kyle going to hit him? 

"I want to hear you say it," Kyle spat. "I want to watch you wince, want to see the fucking guilt in your eyes when you say it." 

Jordan's whole body was juddering. He sensed a panic-filled balloon inflating in his chest; the rubber stretching and expanding - preparing to burst. 

"I'm about to lose my patience, Jordan," Kyle warned. 

"Alright, alright," Jordan said quickly. "I'll tell you - tell you everything."

"Good lad," Kyle smirked. 

Jordan could taste vomit on his lips, felt saliva pouring into his mouth, and he had to suppress the urge to throw up. 

"Well, me and John, we - we slept together." 

Kyle nodded encouragingly. 

"Mhmm, and how did that happen, Jordan?" he said. The livid expression on Kyle's face had softened slightly, but his voice remained stern. 

Jordan stuttered for a moment; single syllables and disjointed, meaningless phrases became all he could manage to produce. But he sensed Kyle's frustration and composed himself. 

"It was after a team night out - in London - I can't remember which one," Jordan sighed. He ran his palm over the back of his neck and felt sweat pooling at the base.  
"I guess - I mean - I hadn't, you know, with a bloke before," he continued, pausing slightly to consider what he should say next.  
"I was just curious I suppose, and John - well - I - he - he hadn't openly told me but I had figured that he didn't exactly mind that sort of thing, you know." 

"Get to the point, Jordan," Kyle interjected. 

"John had had quite a bit to drink and I suppose I took advantage." 

Kyle's head snapped up; his nostrils flaring again; his bottom jaw grinding against the top, mincing the yellowing teeth in his mouth like a dog preparing to bite. Jordan held his hands up over his chest, protecting himself from a blow that didn't come. 

"No, no - God no - Kyle, I don't mean like that. He consented. He came onto me. I just - I mean - I probably should have stopped it all - said no - because we'd both been drinking. I should have said 'another time'." He paused. "But I didn't."

Kyle studied Jordan's face for a moment, his own still flushed with fury, and Jordan could tell that Kyle was questioning whether or not he should believe him. 

"You're absolutely sure he wasn't..." Kyle paused, considering how to phrase the next part of his question. "Too drunk?" 

"Yes, absolutely sure."

Kyle nodded.

"So then what?" he continued. 

"I don't know. It was never meant to but it just - it - it ended up becoming a thing I suppose. I didn't think I'd enjoy it much the first time - I was only curious - but I did. I wanted to try it again, sober like, just to check it wasn't the booze the first time. So I text him and it happened again, and then it just..." Jordan sighed. He was ashamed. "Whenever I wanted some, I just... I went to John. He was always up for it. Made it too easy." 

Kyle stepped closer, grabbing Jordan forcefully by the collar of his shirt and pushing him against the wall, listening to the thud as the bridge of his skull smacked against the plaster, cracking it slightly. Jordan swallowed a breath. 

"You don't talk about him like that. Don't you fucking talk about him like that," Kyle yelled, slamming Jordan's body into wall again. 

Tears began to trickle down Jordan's cheeks. He fish mouthed at Kyle again, gasping through the pain as he felt warm, red liquid dribbling down his neck, mixing with the sweat. 

"I'm sorry, Kyle. I'm sorry - I didn't mean it like that," he pleaded. 

Kyle let go, his hand aching slightly. Jordan breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the knots in his stomach loosen. 

"Then what did you do?" Kyle snapped.

Jordan jolted again. He'd thought the interrogation was over, that he was about to walk away a free man, but Kyle was pressing for a second time already. 

"I - I finished it with him. I told him I didn't want to do it again," Jordan sighed. 

He'd cried all the way home after that night, eyes burning and throat dry from the tears in the morning. He hadn't eaten for days in the aftermath - weeks perhaps - the fabric of his jeans became slack around his waist and he began to feel the bumps of his rib cage beneath his skin. His face had become pale; blue eyes framed by deep, dark circles; the area hollow suddenly - skull like. He had to resist the urge to pick up the phone and call John, tell him that he'd been wrong, about a million times each day. He thought it'd make him feel better... but it didn't. The sickly feeling of guilt in his stomach prevailed, worsened even, and Jordan hated himself for the fact that hurting John had made him feel worse than living in the knowledge that he was cruelly lying to the woman he was about to make his wife did. Kyle's voice sliced through his thoughts again. 

"Before that, Jordan. You're missing something there."

"What - I - what do you mean?" Jordan frowned. 

"Don't pretend you didn't know. You knew, Jordan - we both know you knew." 

Jordan searched his mind frantically, desperately trying to recall the answer Kyle wanted from him. Then he remembered. Kyle watched as the guilt swelled behind his eyes. 

"I - the last time we - I was rough. I took it too far." 

"Too right you did," Kyle snapped. 

He pictured the blood stains on the back of John's underwear and Jordan felt sick. 

"I didn't mean it, Kyle," Jordan said, his voice thickening.

Kyle seemed to have calmed slightly; surprised by Jordan's honesty. 

"What about your bird?" Kyle questioned.

Jordan's ears were banging, blood thumping painfully around his head. He flinched a little; the question felt like a pinch.

"You've just had a baby, for Christ's sake," he continued.

"I know, Kyle! I know that!" Jordan roared. 

"Why then? Why did you start fucking John when you've got a family?" Kyle shouted in response, emphasising his final word. 

"I just told you why," Jordan screamed. Tears were rolling down his face, though even he was unsure if they were tears of fear, shame or pure sadness. 

"Fair," Kyle grunted. "But why did it carry on? Why did you keep doing it, Picks? I get that you were curious; wanted to try it out. But why do it again and again? Surely once or twice is enough to know?" 

Kyle's rage seemed to have dissipated; his voice softer and quieter again; the expression on his face resembling one of puzzlement rather than fury. 

"I just, I don't - things with me and Meg aren't great and -" 

Kyle interrupted. 

"So you used John for a shag when you wanted one because you can't be bothered fixing things with her?" Kyle spat.

The words felt so familiar than Jordan heard them half in John's voice. 

"No, Kyle, it wasn't -"

He was cut off again. 

 

"You know you don't get to do that, Jordan. You can't just use people like that and then toss them aside when you don't need them like -"

"No, Kyle. It wasn't like that," Jordan bellowed, desperate to be heard. 

"Well what was it like then?" Kyle screeched. 

"It wasn't just an easy shag to me," Jordan sighed. 

Jordan could feel his hands trembling against his knees; the inside of his body cold. Was he really about to tell Kyle?

"What then?" Kyle frowned.

Jordan drew in a breath. 

"It was so much more than that to me, Kyle. John... he meant so much more. At least he did by the end."

Kyle's mouth opened slowly and dramatically. But he composed himself, setting his jaw again before Jordan noticed. Jordan's breath felt small and shallow in his chest. Was he about to make the biggest mistake of his life? Or would he look back on this night and be forever glad that he made this choice? 

"What do you - do you love him?" Kyle gasped. 

"I don't know if - I'm not sure I love him," Jordan sighed. "But, I think - I think I like him."

"Romantically?" Kyle asked. 

Jordan rolled his eyes. 

"Obviously, Kyle. Wouldn't really be having a crisis over wanting to be friends with a lad on the team, would I?" 

"I just wasn't expecting that," Kyle laughed. 

Jordan studied his face... the anger had vanished. 

"You seem more shocked by that than you are by the fact we've shagged," Jordan scoffed. 

"I'm surprised by both to be honest," Kyle said; the thin rattle of nervous laughter evident in his tone. 

They were quiet for a moment, both attempting to wordlessly process what had just been said. 

"Jord," Kyle sighed, his voice finally cutting through the silence. 

Jordan lifted his gaze from where his feet were fixed to the floor, looking up at Kyle hopefully. He met his eyes, and Jordan was thankful not to find any anger inside them.

"Look, if you really mean what you just said, I think it's time you told him."

"Really?" Jordan frowned.

"Yes," Kyle said thickly. "I think you need to be honest with him, yourself too."

Jordan shuffled nervously; desperate to be alone. He needed time to think. 

"I - I need to think about all this," he sighed, hoping it'd be enough to get him released. 

Kyle resisted the urge to yell at Jordan again; to lecture him about John not being a monopoly board for him to work his way around numerous times to subsequently pack it up and forget about it once he became bored or frustrated with the game. He'd said his piece. 

"Alright," Kyle huffed. "I'll see you in the morning then, I guess."

Jordan said goodbye to Kyle and stumbled out of the room, the wretched taste of vomit in his saliva. His whole body felt weak, unsteady even, yet a warm glow glimmered in his chest. He decided to go out for a run. He rarely went alone, and never before had he been at such a late hour. But he needed to spend the energy bubbling inside his body to have an opportunity to properly understand what he was thinking... what he was feeling. 

It was dark outside. The summer rain hammered against the pavements of the streets, rattling the glass windows of the soaring buildings, thudding against Jordan's bare skin. He marvelled at the sensation, the wetness strangely warm as it dribbled down his cheeks. The clouds above him had darkened and merged and the wind wailed and shrieked as a heavy, oppressive sense of thunder began to swell in the city. The air tasted stale and thick on the tip of his tongue, and Jordan was certain that a storm was brewing above him.

He ran until he felt a dull ache in his knees, pacing through the streets, blowing out short, rapid breaths as his heart pounded hastily and repetitively struck his sternum, the tension still sparking and crackling inside him like a firework. He waited until the rain began to strike the surfaces around him, droplets bouncing against the pavements; the walls; vacant tables arranged outside of coffee shops, and he finally turned back. 

He thought of John the whole way; picturing the soft blue of his eyes, imagining the faint warmth of his breath against his skin, visualising the white cast of sadness on his face that morning. How could he have not realised? Jordan had thought that he meant nothing to John, that he was the only one beginning to feel more than just the delicious pull of orgasm whenever they were together. But he'd been wrong all along? Kyle didn't specifically say that John had told him he had feelings for him, but surely he did if he was this shaken by what had happened between them? He'd been watching John like a hawk and he knew that he'd barely eaten since arriving, and he could tell from the way his uncut hair was coiled and snarled and greasier than a used chip pan that John hadn't even been showering properly. Why did John tell Kyle? Jordan could only reason that it was because his rejection had cut him deeper than jagged shards of glass could and that John had been desperately seeking relief from the pain he'd inflicted. The realisation dawned on him. Kyle was right. 

John was watching the street lamps blink out one by one from the window of his room, tracing shapes in the mist where his breath had clouded on the coldness of the glass. He felt an emptiness in his stomach; the heavy burden of secrets and shame relived from his chest, but the faint flicker of sadness still ever present inside him. He stared beyond his reflection in the window. Black, black night. He wondered again where Jordan was now, if he'd thought of him at all since the last time they were together. John was stirred from his thoughts by the sound of an urgent knocking at his door. He tip-toed gingerly towards it, wondering who would be behind there at this time. He fiddled with the handle and opened it slowly... finding Jordan's eyes.

Jordan pushed the door back frantically, shoving John away from it and striding into the room. He slammed it shut behind them and John opened his mouth to speak, but he stalled slightly; his mind unable to keep up. Jordan pressed his lips against John's, kissing his deeply and stroking at the thin layer of stubble on his jaw. John pulled away. 

"I thought you said you were done with me?" John breathed.

Jordan shook his head.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> \- Sex scene!! (I've never written one before so I'm sorry if it's bad. I've tried to get the balance between sweet and sexy right).

John's pulse quickened. He felt his knees weaken as Jordan locked his hands behind his head, deepening their kiss and moaning gently into his mouth. John returned his pressure, eager to feel every inch of Jordan; to experience him in every way possible once again. He tasted the sharp minty flavour of the gum Jordan chewed in his mouth again and a warmth rose in John's chest; the sweet familiarity of the taste both contented and aroused him. But why had Jordan come back? He'd seemed so certain that this wasn't what he wanted anymore. Why had he changed his mind? John stamped down the wave of anxiety that rushed over him; blocking the path of the questions that were running through his mind like a freight train - rapid, relentless racket. Jordan was there, mouth pressed against his own; calloused hands tracing the trail of his spine under his shirt, and John wanted nothing more than to marvel in the feeling of him close again... even if he did leave him again afterwards. 

Jordan pulled away from John momentarily, cupping his face and stroking his ashen cheeks with his thumbs. He stared at John for a moment, watching as his pupils pulsated rapidly, the thrill of arousal and excitement ripping through his veins, the periwinkle blue of the irises slowly revealing itself again as the black centres shrunk back to their regular size. He listened to the faint jangle of John's golden bracelets as he caressed the ridges of his hipbones, and Jordan wondered if John had noticed that they jutted out ever so slightly more now. He fiddled with the hem of John's t-shirt, dragging the material away from his body and discarding it on the floor, then swiftly removed his own. He gripped John's waist and pulled him towards him, pressing his chest and stomach against his own, feeling heat pool in his stomach and a stirring below. John was already hard and Jordan could feel him pressing against his hip. 

Jordan pressed his lips to John's again, but John noticed that the kiss was soft and unhurried, far from the forceful, deep, desperate kisses he'd grown used to receiving from Jordan. John allowed his arms to coil around Jordan's torso, wrapping him in a close embrace. He flinched slightly, scared that Jordan would snap away from a more tender, affectionate touch, but surprisingly, Jordan seemed to welcome it, and John had to open his eyes slightly to make sure he wasn't dreaming the whole thing up. 

Jordan backed away slightly, body still tightly pressed against John's, but their mouths no longer kissing. He rested the tip of his nose against John's, looking at him intently. John balled his hands into fists behind Jordan's back, realising that Jordan wanted to speak, frightened of the words that he was about to say. Was he going to turn away from him again? 

"I hurt you last time," Jordan breathed. 

John felt a lump form at the back of his throat. He couldn't deny it. John nodded vaguely, and he saw a flash of guilt run across Jordan's expression. 

"Did I..." 

He realised that Jordan couldn't bring himself to finish the question, and answered his soundless enquiry. 

"It's okay. You didn't do me any real damage."

Jordan breathed a sigh of relief, and squeezed John's body firmly. 

"I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry."

John spied the tears brimming in Jordan's eyes and squeezed back. Did Jordan really care for him? 

"I know. I know you're sorry, Jord," John smiled. 

Jordan ran his finger tips over John's back, rubbing it gently, and he felt John shudder with pleasure in his arms. 

"Let me treat you right, tonight. I want treat you how you deserve to be treated."

John's face crack into smile as he felt a jolt of joy and pleasure shock his spine. Did Jordan like him too? Or was he doing this out of guilt alone? He pushed the questions away once again, wanting to enjoy Jordan one more time, regardless of the consequences. 

Jordan pressed a gentle kiss to John's cheek. He pulled away from their embrace and entwined his fingers in John's, leading him carefully to the bed. 

John allowed Jordan to lay him down, arranging the pillows so that they cradled his head warmly. He stared up at him dreamily, eyes wide and lips parted slightly. Jordan settled into the space next to John, kissing his lips softly as he ran his hands along to the length of his ribcage, counting the bumps as he touched them. John felt his fingers trembling against his skin, and he noticed that Jordan was nervous. He pulled away.

"Jord... are you okay?" John breathed, pupils dilated and cheeks flushed with arousal. 

Jordan nodded in response, and sought out John's mouth again. But John backed away.

"Jord, we don't have to do this, if you're not sure -"

"No, John, I am sure," Jordan said thickly. 

"Positive?" John questioned. 

Jordan simply kissed him again, pressing a hand to John's stomach and laying him down against the sheets. He ran the tips of his fingers along the dark leather of John's belt and fiddled with the buckle until it came undone. He pulled down the zip of John's jeans, motioning with his hand for John to raise his hips so he could slide them down. He quickly removed John's underwear, noting the beads of pre-cum already splattered on the front of the cloth, and Jordan knew he was ready for him. Jordan grasped the sides of John's body, clambering on top of him, kissing his mouth again. John raised his hips, seeking out Jordan's, already desperate to feel the tiniest speck of friction there. He moaned heavily into Jordan's mouth, and Jordan felt himself harden more with the sound. 

"Touch me," John breathed between the kisses.

Jordan shook his head. 

"What's the magic word?" he teased. 

"Please," John grunted, obviously frustrated with the lack of contact below. 

Jordan shook his head again and John groaned irately. 

"No, say it nicely," Jordan demanded. 

John rolled his eyes and Jordan laughed softly. 

"Please, Jordan, please touch me," John begged. 

Jordan was still for a moment, and John was unsure of what he was about to do. Was he going to walk away again, and leave him naked and hard and vulnerable like this? The sour taste of vomit rose in John's throat. But Jordan smiled at him, and John had to suppress a sigh of relief. 

"Good lad," Jordan whispered.

He began to drag his hand over John's stomach, licking his lips as he watched the muscles there contract delightfully as John tried to shuffle his hips closer to his touch. He gripped John's length and began to stroke him. Then John was in ecstasy, his hands gripping the faded sheets beneath them and his eyes squeezed shut, moans and gasps quickly escaping from his mouth, and Jordan noticed them gradually increasing in volume and frequency. 

"Jord - please - want you - want you inside," John managed. 

Jordan's pace faltered for a moment, and John opened his eyes, a flash of concern spreading across his face. 

"Are you sure?" Jordan said, his brown puckered. 

"Yeah," John smiled. 

"Just - after last time," Jordan gulped, guilt evident in his expression again. 

John raised his hand and squeezed Jordan's bicep gently, nodding his head, though he wasn't sure Jordan would see it in the darkening room. 

"Yeah - just - take it a litter easier - okay?"

"Of course," Jordan breathed. He kissed John again. "Promise." 

John pointed to the set of drawers beside them, and Jordan rummaged in it for a moment, pulling out a small bottle of lube. He flipped the cap and squeezed it over the length of his fingers. He pressed gently again John's entrance, feeling as he pulled his hips away slightly, the muscles tensing and closing. He waited patiently until John was ready to press back, allowing him inside. He listened carefully to John's breath, pulling back at the slightest sign of discomfort. He hooked his fingers, searching for the spot until John let out a loud moan. Jordan pushed against it, massaging circles into John's prostate. John bit down on his lower lip, trapping moans inside his throat, realising the others might hear them from within their rooms. John reached forwards, hands searching for Jordan, grasping his body and lugging him towards him. He pulled his hands away hurriedly, as though the skin of his fingers had made contact with an object the temperature of lava, remembering that Jordan didn't normally didn't respond well to him trying to hold him during in those moments. 

"It's okay, John, you can hold onto me if you want to," Jordan whispered. 

John smiled, pulling Jordan close to him, inhaling the faint scent of his shower gel. Jordan felt John pressing against him, forcing his fingers deeper inside, a sure sign that he wanted more, that he was ready. John pulled his hand away from Jordan's back, reaching into the space between their stomachs to begin to stroke himself to orgasm. Jordan grasped his wrist firmly, trapping his hand between them and then slowly pushing John's arm back onto the pillow. John groaned loudly. 

"I didn't say you could do that," Jordan whispered into John's ear, fingers still deep inside John's body. 

"But I want to. Let me," John pleaded, Jordan still pinning his arm down. 

"'I want' isn't the way we ask, is it now?" Jordan replied, eyebrows raised. 

John groaned again, moving his hips more quickly, a sure sign that he was ready. 

"Do you have condoms too?" 

"Course," John smiled. 

Jordan pulled his fingers out and away, and John's body clenched painfully around nothing. Jordan reached into the drawer again before slowly shuffling out of his own shorts and underwear and rolling the condom over his own length, dousing himself in lube. He positioned himself between John's legs and pressed against him. John didn't pull away, pressing instantly back against Jordan, taking him into him in one swift movement. 

"Good boy," Jordan whispered, placing a soft kiss on John's forehead. "Good lad."

"'m a pro now," John joked, and Jordan's face cracked into a wide smile. 

"Gonna reward you for that," Jordan whispered. "Gonna make you cum so hard."

John moaned softly, moving his hips and matching Jordan's thrusts. They pressed their foreheads together, staring into the bright blue of each other's eyes as Jordan increased his pace. He pulled back slightly, shuffling a little and finding the point again. 

"There, want you there," John gasped.

Jordan increased his speed again, desperately trying to suppress his own orgasm as he listened to John's low moans, his mouth wide open and his eyes closed. He was so close. Jordan grasped John's length and began to move his hand up and down. Before Jordan knew it, John was coming, pumping white ropes of cum over Jordan's hand and his own stomach, unable to contain the moans and gasps any longer. Jordan followed him swiftly, collapsing on top of John, who wrapped his arms around him again, trapping his warmth close to his body, silently praying that Jordan wasn't about to change his mind about their arrangement once again. 

For the first time, Jordan helped John to clean himself up afterwards, pressing kisses onto his cheeks as he mopped the cum off John's belly. He lay down next to him, stroking the bristly stubble that covered the line of his jaw with the back of his hand. Neither of them spoke. They rarely did afterwards. John lifted his head, resting it against the firmness of Jordan's chest, curling the rest of his body into a ball close to him. He waited for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as he waited for Jordan to push him away again, making another feeble excuse and leaving promptly. But he didn't do that. Jordan wrapped his arms around John, shuffling closer to him, bringing his hands to John's hair, stroking and pulling at the dark strands. 

"What changed?" John asked. 

"We'll talk tomorrow, now. Get some sleep, John," Jordan replied, drawing him closer. 

They fell into a deep slumber in the darkness of John's room, Jordan cradling him like a bird with a broken wing. 

A bright, yellow light flooded the room. John noted a swishing sound beside him. The mattress groaned beneath him as he rolled over, slowly opening his eyes and finding Jordan standing in front of the window, eyes puffy from deep sleep and dressed only in his white underwear. 

"You're still here," John beamed, unable to hide his elation. 

Jordan leaned over him, pressing a hard kiss to John's mouth. John stared up at him with wide eyes, somewhat unable to believe that Jordan was still there in front of him, drawing the curtains open and waking him with a kiss. 

"I am, but you need to get out of bed," Jordan joked. "We need to go down to breakfast. Do you not set an alarm?" 

"Haven't been sleeping," John said, running his hand through his hair and watching Jordan scurry around the room. 

John hauled himself up from the bed, smiling slightly at the condom wrapper discarded on the floor. 

Jordan managed to avoid any prying eyes as he padded out of John's room, quickly returning to his own to put on clean clothes and pick up his bag before taking the lift to the breakfast room. John wondered in shortly after him, pouring himself a glass of fresh orange juice from a jug on the table and helping himself to a slice of thickly buttered toast. Jordan felt a surge of relief flood his muscles as he watched John cheerfully take a large bite out of the bread. He nodded at him from across the room as he perched himself on a seat next to Deli and Kane, pleased to see John eating again. 

A moment later Kyle seated himself on the same table as John, smiling broadly at him, noticing the fresh colouring in his cheeks and the smell of soap rather than sweat on his skin. Kyle leaned closer to him. 

"You feeling better today, boss?" he whispered.

"Loads better," John replied.

But Kyle noticed the faint smirk tugging at John's lips, the way he looked seductively over at Jordan as he spoke. 

"What do you mean by that?" Kyle scoffed.

John's head snapped around as he turned to focus his eyes on Kyle. 

"Nothing, nothing - you really helped, thanks, mate," John lied. 

John left the table swiftly, barely acknowledging Kyle and the others as he began to walk away. 

John desperately tried not to follow or fixate on Jordan too much during their training session, though regardless of the exercises they were doing, John found himself continuously gravitating towards where Jordan was, unable to concentrate solely on the drills. John was staring over at Jordan, eyes set on the back of his head. John had become almost unaware of his surroundings until he felt a tug at the sleeve of his shirt, whisking around to find Kyle. 

"You're making it obvious, take it down a notch, yeah?" Kyle muttered.

Kyle scowled at him as he walked away. He knew. John felt his stomach tighten suddenly, his blood pumping heavily around his body. Kyle was angry - hurt even - and John's elation faded rapidly... the realisation struck him like a bullet to the chest as he recalled everything he'd told Kyle the previous evening, everything Jordan had done to him, the delusions and the dreams hastily fading. Jordan had used him again, and John had done nothing but spread his legs and allow it, then pathetically follow him around like a little lost puppy afterwards, hoping for the faintest sign of returned affection. The session ended, and John ambled away with his head hung down and his shoulders slumped, feeling wretched and humiliated yet grateful to be alone in his room again. But Jordan wasn't alone in his. 

"What the fuck, Jordan?" Kyle spat as he stormed past him and entered his room again. 

"What?" Jordan shrugged. 

"You did it again, I know you did," Kyle growled, his eyes wide and steely. 

Jordan's faced paled. 

"What - do - how - did you hear?"

"No, I didn't hear you, and thank fuck for that," Kyle scoffed. 

Jordan's brow puckered slightly. A wave of anger rushed through him as he realised that John must have told him. 

"He told you?" Jordan snapped. 

"He didn't need to tell me, did he," Kyle bellowed. "I could tell. It was the way he was looking at you, the way he's been beaming away all day."

Jordan had noticed, and he'd felt a warmth stir inside him every time he'd detected the happiness plastered on John's face. 

"You need to stop this, Jordan. Stop giving him hope. You're getting married, you -"

"I'm not getting married," Jordan interjected. 

Kyle fish mouthed for a moment, trying and failing to understand what Jordan had just said. 

"You what?" Kyle frowned.

"I'm not getting married," Jordan said thickly. 

"Well, you're engaged, so that means you're getting married as far I'm concerned. What am I missing here?" 

Jordan gulped hard. He knew it was what he wanted, and saying it aloud would only force him to finally commit to that. 

"I've made a decision," Jordan breathed. 

"What decision?" Kyle shrugged.

"Megan - I'm going to leave her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So again this is far from my best writing. I've had a super busy week but I wanted to keep this story going.   
> Sorry the latter part of this is kind of rushed! Let me know what you think :)


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Jordan finally have the conversation they've both quietly been wanting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken a while! I've been away.

"Just don't, okay?" John snapped through the crack in the barely opened door to his room. 

Jordan wedged it open with his foot, gradually trying to force his way inside. John tried desperately to push the door shut. He pressed the palm of his hand against Jordan's chest, holding him back, and drove the door into his foot in attempt to shut it despite the blockage with the other. The pressure crushed against Jordan's ankle, but he gritted his teeth through the pain, desperate to convince John to allow him inside. 

"I don't want to hear it," John said firmly. 

"John, please," Jordan begged, squeezing the words out between his clenched teeth. 

Jordan looked at John intently; his face sickly and sallow in colour; his eyes shining with tears that were about to fall; the skin surrounding them already puffy and mottled and damp; lips trembling and nostrils flared. He felt his heart skin deep into the pit of his stomach. 

"I know what you're going to say, Jordan. Please, just don't make it worse for me," John begged. "You don't need to tell me. I know, Jordan, and I can't hear it again."

He was crying then; thick streaks of warm, salty liquid dribbled down his cheeks, and Jordan felt an agonising throbbing begin to flare in his own head from the struggle to contain the flood of tears that threatened to flow from his eyes. John pressed harder against the door, the wood cutting deeply into the skin that surrounded the ridge of Jordan's ankle bone. He hissed with pain, but he didn't retreat. 

"Please - let me talk to you," Jordan pleaded.

John let out a loud, pain filled sob, the sound smacking and rebounding against the air that surrounded them. 

"I know you don't want me," John said quietly. "I know how this is."

Jordan's eyes widened, a panic filled balloon swelling in his chest. 

"No, John, please, you don't understand," Jordan said hastily. 

"No, Kyle was right. I need to keep away from you. You're screwing with my head," John blubbered. 

Jordan pushed forwards, arms flailing in gap in the door that separated him from John, desperately trying to get inside. 

"No, John, please, one last -" Jordan gasped with pain as John slammed the edge of the door into his already wounded ankle. "Give me one last chance, hear me out."

John froze. Jordan looked closely at his face, and he noticed that the tears had come to an abrupt halt. The sadness and the terror in his face and faded and been replaced by a look of confusion. 

"A chance?" John frowned. 

"Yes, please, just let me talk to you." 

John continued to resist for a brief moment, but Jordan breathed a sigh of relief as he finally let up the pressure on his ankle, opening the door wide and allowing him inside. John felt a wave of guilt break inside him as he watched Jordan limp and hobble across the floor to the bed, his ankle clearly injured from the pressure he'd put on it. The mattress sank and whined under Jordan's weight. The yellow light emanating from the bulb above them played upon his face, and John noticed that his cloudy blue eyes were shiny with tears... but he held them in. John's hands were trembling, and the crying had resumed, though it was quieter and more controlled than the previous bout. Jordan was silent, his gaze fixed on his own socks, and he found himself wishing that they matched. He fidgeted a little, trailing the corridors of his mind in search of a script that didn't exist; a speech he'd forgotten to write. John continued to whimper and snivel , the sounds clouding Jordan's thoughts, slicing through them like a knife. But then John let out a low, shaky breath, and wiped the remnants of the tears from under his eyes with the sleeves of his thick sweatshirt, composing himself. 

"Jordan, you've already wasted enough of my time, just say what you've come to say, will you?" he said, his voice lacking the assertiveness he'd tried to feign. 

Jordan looked at him pleadingly, determined not to waste the opportunity but unable to find the words to express the feelings he wanted to. John hung his head, pressing his face into his hands, exhausted by the confusing situation, his patience with Jordan burning like a candle down into a pool. 

"What does this mean to you?" Jordan croaked. 

John looked up at Jordan from his hands, a look of puzzlement tugging at his features once again. 

"This?" John shrugged.

"Us - what we've been doing."

"Shagging, Jordan. Fucking. Why don't you just say it?" John spat. 

Jordan slowed and squirmed at John's bluntness. His stomach clenched inside him as he was finally faced with the ugly beast that was the truth of what he'd done - how he'd treated John, how he'd cheated on Megan, how he'd betrayed his baby boy before he was even old enough to wipe the snot from beneath his nose. 

"Yeah, I need too. You're right," Jordan breathed. 

"What does it mean to you?" John asked hopefully.

Jordan balled his hands into fists and his heart began to pump heavily in his chest as he braced himself for the conversation that was about to unfold. 

"It's more than sex, John," Jordan said flatly. "It was never meant to be, but it is now."

John felt a warm glow inside his chest, as though every tear in his eye had suddenly dried, the pain and the wretchedness of the past months swiftly washed away like names carved in wet sand with a stick. 

"It's okay if you don't feel the same," Jordan said quickly. 

They were quiet for a beat, both trying to process what had just been said and fathom their next move. 

"Do you like me, Jordan?" John asked. 

Jordan nodded, unable to meet John's eyes, trying to shield himself from a rejection that wasn't going to come. 

"I think I do," he answered honestly. 

"I like you, too," John said softly. 

Jordan's head snapped up, and John noticed the gleeful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He smiled back, and padded towards where Jordan was sitting, eyeing him levelly and pressing a hand to his pink, freckled cheek. John lowered his head slightly, seeking out Jordan's lips and pressing a gentle kiss to them. Jordan sighed contentedly into John's mouth, a happiness he hadn't felt in weeks, months even, flooding every fibre of his body. They pulled back, and gazed into the blue of each other's eyes. John stroked at his cheek with his thumb, his palm warm against the coolness of Jordan's face. 

"What are you saying, Jordan?" John asked, praying silently to a God he didn't even believe in that he hadn't misunderstood. 

"I - I don't know, John. I think we need to take this steady," he whispered, "but I've made a decision about one thing."

"What's that?" John replied, though he somehow already knew the answer.

Jordan gulped. 

"I'm going to leave Megan," he said thickly. 

John felt dizzy with delight as the words tumbled out of Jordan's mouth. But then he pictured the smile that seemed to be painted permanently on Megan's face shattering, and the pink, vulnerable, drooling child she'd so recently bore, and he felt guilty and sickened by the happiness he felt at the thought of her world being crushed so unexpectedly. 

"Will she be alright?" John breathed, "will you be alright?"

"Yeah," Jordan said softly, though his voice was cracking slightly. "I'll make sure she's looked after, and I'll make sure I'm still there for her and the little one whenever he needs me," he continued. "But I can't keep doing this, it'll be better for all of us, I know it will." 

John nodded. 

"I never asked how you were coping since your..." Jordan's voice trailed off.

"Fine, I'm fine," John shrugged. "She's gone back to her parents for a bit, but we're working things out."

"Yeah?" 

"It's been difficult, but we're talking through custody and stuff now, sorting out who's going to live where and all that," John shrugged. "It'll be okay." 

Jordan pressed a hand to John's thigh. 

"Does she know, John?" Jordan asked nervously. 

John shook his head. 

"Thank you," Jordan breathed. 

John smiled warmly and nodded in response. 

"So what will this mean for us?" he whispered. 

Jordan began to fidget again, clearly uncomfortable with the directness of the question.

"I don't know, John," Jordan said honestly. "I'd like it if we could spend some time together though, John. Just hang out, see how things go, see if this is something we both really want," he continued. "I just don't want to rush anything."

"Neither do I," John smiled. 

A cool breeze began to tickle their cheeks, a sign that night was fast approaching. 

"Maybe, when we're both a bit more sorted, you could come over, and I could cook for us, and we could just watch some films or something," John suggested. 

Jordan felt a wave of joy and warmth begin to ripple through his muscles. He pressed his forehead against John's, smiling gently though his eyes were closed. 

"I'd love that," Jordan breathed. 

They kissed again, and John felt his hands shaking as jolts of excitement and glee rolled over his spine. He could hardly believed what was happening. But Jordan was there and it was real; he could taste that somehow familiar, minty bubble gum in Jordan's kisses, he could smell the citrus scent of his shower gel, and he'd never felt more content in his life. Jordan broke the kiss. He reached down to the foot of the bed and dragged the cotton of his right sock off his foot, holding the item up in front of them, the cloth stained with streaks of scarlet red. He smirked. 

"Even."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading again everyone. Let me know what you think :)


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John doesn't know why Jordan hasn't called him since their conversation at the Nations League Finals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter but hopefully it's effective still!

"I don't what to do, like, do I text him or what?" John sighed into his mobile phone. 

He pulled the key out of the ignition, and swung his car door open, stepping out again into the coldness of the morning. He'd been for an early drive after giving up on sleep for yet another night, hoping the rumbling and the rattling of his car's engine would soothe his mind. Thoughts of Jordan and their last conversion plagued his thoughts, like a tiny insect living inside his brain, pulling at the wires, skittering through the cells, teasing and taunting him every second of every day. Kyle huffed in response. 

"I duno, mate, I duno if that's a good idea," he answered. 

"What do I do then, Kyle? It's been weeks, it's not long until the pre-season tour," John groaned. 

"John, bud, you said you'd give him time to get sorted. He's breaking off his engagement and they've not long had a kid. It can't be easy for him to be fair, mate. He probably just doesn't want to screw you around. Just give him time, yeah?" Kyle shrugged. 

John exhaled deeply. He pressed his thumb and his forefinger into the lids of his eyes, rubbing them hard. He hauled himself towards his front door once again, the weight of exhaustion heavy in his bones, sadness sinking like a immense stone from his chest into his stomach. 

"Yeah, you're probably right, mate. I'll leave it alone," John replied. "I'm sorry to have troubled you so early, Kyle."

"Ey, don't be sorry. Just try and have a little bit rest now if you can, yeah?"

"I'll try," John smiled into the phone. 

He hung up the phone and pushed it into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms. He looked down at his calves as he pressed his key into his door, noticing the faint stains on the grey material he was clad in, and the splattering of dirt on the cuffs that encircled his ankles. He stumbled into the house, the vile smell of unwashed dishes and greasy takeaway food clouded the air; the sound of talking on the television he hadn't bothered to turn off the evening before greeted him; a stale taste tickled his tongue. A sudden sense of shame rippled through him. 

His eyes fell on the photograph of his daughter and now ex-partner he still had framed on the table in the hallway. He studied the picture for a moment; noting the broad smile on her face as she cradled their little girl in her weak arms, the orange flames from the candles on their baby's first birthday cake gently lighting their faces. His little girl's cheeks were pink and round; her milky blonde curls framed her pretty, happy smile as she leaned into the enormous number-one shaped cake. He wasn't even there that day. He was away on some tour with City... he couldn't even remember where. A single tear rolled down his cheek, but he wiped it away swiftly, and turned the photograph around. Had it even been worth it? He wasn't sure anymore. But it was too late to turn back now. 

John settled into a space on his sofa, reaching for the remote control and flicking a button to switch off the television that was still buzzing in the background. He pulled the hood of his jumper over his ears, trapping the warmth of his body close to his face, warmth prickling his cheeks. He considering getting up and turning the heating on, but he decided he simply couldn't be bothered. He leaned his head back against the sofa, and released a long, shaky breath. Tear filled balloons burst behind his eyes, the sounds of his pain filled sobs filling the room. He missed his girlfriend. He missed his daughter. But most of all he missed Jordan. 

Suddenly, he found himself in a moment of weakness again. His fingers danced over the screen of his mobile phone where the letters spelled out Jordan's name and he contemplated calling or texting him once more. He resisted, flicking the X on his contacts app once again, setting the phone down on the arm of the sofa. He fidgeted, desperate to release the whirlwind of emotions spiralling inside him but unsure how he could. He couldn't call Kyle again, and he couldn't risk telling anyone else. 

He picked up his phone again, and opened up the Instagram app, scrolling through the photos with cheesy captions or jokes underneath, the colours and words busying his mind for a moment, slashing through the thoughts of Jordan. But then John's thumb flicked over a new image and he felt his heart begin to thump hard in his chest. Every drop of blood in his body began to rush like speeding cars through his veins. His ears banged and his eyes stung as he tried to hold back another flood of salty tears. He bought his gaze back to the photo. It was a photo of Jordan, shirtless and smiling, the sun beating down on the white sands and the glistening blue sea behind him. Megan was there next to him, smiling gleefully, dressed in a pink bikini with her flaxen hair tucked behind her ears. His arm was draped around her shoulders, and she was holding their baby boy close to her chest. Jordan had posted the photograph himself, and captioned it: "Ibiza with the fam." 

John let out a scream then. He stood up. He was panting, heart pumping hard in his chest and his palms felt damp with sweat, rage draining from his body. He paced his living room floor, desperate to expel the wrath and the energy that was bubbling inside him. He picked up the remote control he'd laid down on the coffee table, and flung it across the room. The plastic struck his television, breaking the screen with a loud crack. John started to cry then, unsure if they were tears of sadness or sheer fury. He slammed his fists against the wall, splitting the plaster and bruising his fingers. Pain began to throb in his hand where he'd belted the partition, but he didn't care... the feeling of fury rolling through his body was all he could concentrate on. He returned to the image of his ex girlfriend and their child in the hallway, gazing once again at his baby's tiny, chubby face. Seeing her eyes calmed him for moment, but then the anger returned, and it was fiercer and stronger this time; ready for a fight. He realised in that moment that he'd given up the thing he loved most in the world to give Jordan the chance he thought he deserved, only for Jordan to turn his back on everything he'd promised him he'd do. He was done. 

John returned to the living and picked up his phone with a shaking hand, thankful that he at least hadn't destroyed that possession in his fit of anger. He glanced at the post again and took a screenshot, then opened up whatsapp and sent it to Jordan. His fingers trembled for a moment as he tried to decide on a message to send with it. He typed: 'you lying little shit. I'm done with you,' and shut the app down again. 

John picked up his phone and called Kyle again. He didn't even stop to think this time. He listen impatiently to the dialling tone, willing him to answer quickly. 

"What's up now, mate?" Kyle groaned. 

"He's a liar. He's a fucking liar. He lied to me, Kyle," John screeched. 

"What? What are you talking about? John, did you ring him?" Kyle replied, his frustration evident in the final question. 

"Look at his Instagram," John spat. 

Kyle removed the phone from his ear from a moment and glanced at the screen, noting a text message he needed to reply to from the previous night before opening up Instagram and searching for Jordan's name. He clicked on the first photo on his page and his mouth formed the shape of an O. His heart sank, sadness and anger for John swirling inside his belly. 

"Oh, John, mate," Kyle sighed.

"Why would he do that to me, Kyle? Why would he do that?" 

John was trembling with fury, and he had to resist punching another surface. He was crying again, but it took him a moment to even notice. 

"I don't know, John, just - want me to come over? I'm here for you, big fella," Kyle said. 

John straightened up and thought for a moment. 

"No," he said calmly. "No, it's okay."

"Are you sure, I can -" 

"No, I know what I'm going to do," John said sternly. 

"What do you mean, mate?"

"If he ain't gonna tell her the truth, I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that's following this fic! Don't forget to leave comments and kudos :)


	9. Chapter Nine

The next day passed in a haze of blazing anger and unbearable sorrow for John. He lay sprawled on his sofa, clutching a pillow for warmth, listening to nothing but the ringing in his ears and the tiny gasps that came with stifled, strangled sobs. His head throbbed and banged from the pain of relentless crying. His eyes were sore and swollen, the taste of metal swirled in his mouth and his throat felt dry like a desert. His chest tightened and closed around the space where his heart had been ripped from the cavity beneath his tattooed skin... a barren wasteland was all that remained. Everything had seemed so perfect. Jordan had told him he had feelings for him, that he wanted to be with him... what had changed? How had he ended up here yet again? 

John's phone had been buzzing unremittingly once again, and again, he found himself ignoring it. He had to contain another river of tears when he listened to his Mum's messages, her voice unusually high pitched and trembling with the threat of tears... 'John, son, please, I'm begging you to give me a ring. Whatever it is, whatever you've done, I'm here for you. Please don't shut me and your Dad out like this. We love you.' He wanted desperately to call her back, to drive to his childhood home even and collapse into a fit of tears in her arms, telling her everything about Jordan and his lies. But how could he explain the whole situation to her? He hadn't even told her he liked men. Would she accept it if she knew? 

Kyle had eventually convinced him to think again about telling Megan the truth about his relationship with Jordan, reminding him of the repercussions such a conversation may have for him, too. He'd advised him to consider his options for at least one week, and then act. In due course John had reluctantly agreed to wait and to think, and he told himself that he hadn't only decided against contacting Megan because it was what Kyle had told him to do. 

It was only when John noticed that the room around him was becoming too dark for him to see that he realised he'd hardly moved for the third day in a row. His muscles felt stiff and tight as he attempted to drag his body, heavy with unpleasant emotions, from the sofa to switch on the lights and pour himself a glass of water in the kitchen. He caught a glimpse of his reflection through the blur of his tears in the hallway mirror, noting the greasy pallor of his skin; round, red pimples appearing on his cheeks and his chin; his eyes sunken and somehow their piercing blue colour seemed to have changed to gravestone grey. He detected the faint smell of sweat on his clothes - but he didn't bother to change them. He managed a few mouthfuls of dry bread as something to eat before the bland, arid taste began to make his stomach sicken and he tossed it onto the pile of rubbish overflowing from his bin. 

He eventually drifted into restless sleep on his sofa; his slumber broken by horrid dreams that sometimes woke him with sweat pumping out of his pores and a feeling of fear and unease ripping through his stomach over and over. He felt even weaker the next morning; his energy stores depleted to the point in which he couldn't even be bothered to wash his hands properly after he pissed. He slumped back on his sofa, thoughts of Jordan and his betrayal still whirling in his mind. But John was abruptly disturbed from his thoughts by a loud banging at the door. He stirred, pulling himself towards the front door of his home to answer what he assumed would merely be a delivery of some kind. But as he swung the door open he was surprised to be greeted by Kyle's face, a concerned expression plastered on it.

"Hi, John," he said nervously. 

"Kyle," John said quickly, unable to hide the hints of surprise and agitation in his voice. 

John looked down at his body, noticing the stains on his t-shirt and his jogging bottoms. He coiled his legs around the frame of his door, trying to conceal the state he was in. Kyle stepped closer to him, preparing to enter the house. John pushed the door forwards again, almost closing it. 

"I didn't say you could come in," John muttered. 

A flash of hurt spread across Kyle's face, but he composed himself. 

"John, come on, mate, we need to get you out of this mess." 

"I'm not in a mess," John lied. 

Kyle exhaled noisily. 

"Have you had a wash this morning?" Kyle asked. 

"Go away, Kyle," John snapped.

"You don't really want that, you know you don't," Kyle replied firmly. 

They were quiet for a moment. John's brow puckered, though Kyle couldn't decide if his expression was one of sadness or frustration. 

"John, it ain't worth this anymore, mate. Come on, let me help you get things sorted out here." 

"You don't understand," John spat. 

Kyle detected John's embarrassment at his situation and he softened slightly. 

"Do you want me to give you a minute to get changed?"

Then John was crying again, even though he thought he had no tears left to cry. 

"Hey, hey, come on, big man. Come 'ere," Kyle said softly. 

John opened the door wide then, and allowed Kyle to step inside and loop his arms around his shoulders. He pressed his forehead against Kyle's collar bone and sobbed... hard. 

"I am in a fucking mess, Kyle. No wonder he doesn't want me," John blubbered.

"It's alright, John. This isn't your fault, okay?" Kyle said calmly. 

John's crying quietened, but he didn't reply. 

"Okay?" Kyle shouted, prompting John to reply. 

"Okay," John managed. 

Kyle let him go then, and handed John a tissue from the pocket of his jeans to dry his eyes with. John smiled for the first time in a while then, somewhat touched by Kyle's concern for him. For a moment, John wanted to shake off the chains of his melancholy, but the iron had eaten into his flesh, and he sank, trembling and hopeless, back into his miserable self. 

"Right, well now you've stopped bloody crying again, I think you need a shower, mate," Kyle declared. 

John laughed softly, though his cheeks flushed scarlet red with shame as the words tumbled out of Kyle's mouth. 

"Yeah, yeah, you're right," John sighed. 

Kyle began to tidy up the house whilst John washed and changed into clean clothes, ridding the rooms of the vile smell of rotting food and unwashed plates. He checked the rubbish for empty beer cans and bottles before taking it outside, but was thankful to discover none. At least he knew that John wasn't drowning his sorrows with alcohol. A couple of drinks out might even do him some good, he mused. 

Before long John had returned to the hall, a mild scent of shower gel following him as he padded down the stairs. John had changed into a pair of dark jeans and a white, long sleeved shirt. Kyle nodded that the hem was a little creased, but they were unsoiled and smelled of washing liquid rather than cheap body spray used to cover the faint odour of sweat, at least. His face still had a white cast of melancholy and lack of sleep, but he looked cleaner and healthier as he stepped into the kitchen. Kyle was busy in the kitchen loading John's dishwasher and emptying his bins. A small smile spread across John's lips as he spied Kyle cleaning and tidying, and he managed to mouth 'thank you' to him. 

"Feel better?" Kyle asked softly.

John nodded, tugging at the sleeves of his fresh shirt, his eyes watering again slightly. 

"Need a hug?" 

John nodded again, tears trickling freely down his pallor cheeks. Kyle stepped forwards and wrapped his arms around John, comforting him. 

"I've been living in a pig sty," John sighed. 

"You've been having a rough time," Kyle said thickly. 

"I'm a complete mess," John retorted. "He must think I'm a joke, basically becoming a recluse over him when we weren't even together, and leaving my missus over a fumble in a hotel room like that. He must think I'm so stupid." 

Kyle let go of John then, and looked at him levelly. He grasped his arms firmly, shaking him a little.

"Well we need to go and show him that you're not then, don't we," Kyle exclaimed. 

John's brow puckered slightly. 

"What d'ya mean?" he shrugged.

"You need to show him that you're not waiting anymore, John. You've given him enough chances and he's wasted them. You're better than his bullshit, mate. Why don't we go out tonight and you can show him what he's missing?" 

John's eyes brightened for a moment, and Kyle thought that for the first time in a long time, he'd detected happiness in his expression. 

"I haven't had much sleep, though," John sighed. 

"Come on, John," Kyle said teasingly. "Just a few drinks out even, it'll do you good."

John nodded then, smiling gratefully at Kyle. 

John and Kyle spent the rest of the day finishing cleaning John's home and contacting his friends and family members just to make sure they all knew he was still alive. Kyle made him add a promise to be in touch again soon and a night out with the lads to each of the messages to make sure he continued to socialise - he needed his friends around him more than ever now, even if John himself didn't know that. The day thinned; a dark haze settled over Manchester and before long John was deciding on what to wear for the evening and spraying expensive scent on himself. He jogged down the stairs, dressed in a black, printed t-shirt, converse trainers and a dark, leather jacket. Kyle noted that the spring seemed to have returned to his step, and that a gentle glow of colour appeared to have returned to his face. The blue tint beneath his eyes remained, but otherwise, John looked like a different man to the dejected, pitiful person who had answered the door to Kyle that same morning. 

"You look loads better already, mate," Kyle smiled. 

"Thanks, Kyle. I feel it." 

They waited patiently for their taxi to arrive, and headed out into the warmth of the summer night. 

The club was bustling with energy when they arrived. The thunderous drum of the fast beats of the music playing struck the air around them with loud thuds, and the neon lights beamed down onto the floor, illuminating the faces of the crowds of people surrounding them, turning them blue and pink and orange and yellow. Kyle bought them drinks, and before long they were being asked for photographs with fans. Kyle breathed a sigh of relief as he noted that John was smiling cheerfully for every single one, indisputable signs of genuine glee plastered on his face. They danced and drank for a while, and for the first time in weeks John found himself in thoughts that didn't relate to Jordan. He smiled broadly, finally feeling freed from the prison he'd been unconsciously locking himself into. 

Jordan travelled home to England with his brow set low as he stared out of the window of the plane; enraged yet still somehow solemn. He'd replied to John's message with countless promises of an explanation and numerous apologies, but John had chosen to ignore him. He knew he'd done wrong, yet he was still livid that John had paid no attention to him. The burden of sadness and shame felt cold and unpleasant in his chest, and he couldn't bring himself to meet Megan's eyes again until they landed.

Jordan decided to go out again when they returned home, desperate to be alone with his thoughts for a while. He drove to the nearest shopping centre and paced around for a little while, picking up random items like chewing gum and socks as he strolled through to busy his mind. It was then that he noticed it... copies of some tabloid newspaper displayed near the entrance of one of the stores , with John's face, sweaty and smiling, printed in the corner of the front page. Peering at the image, Jordan hoped that the article would be about nothing more than some nonsense transfer rumour or Man City's upcoming pre-season tour. He gazed at the headline, re-reading it several times, hoping that the words would somehow morph into different ones and present him with a completely different story. He read the words for a final time... 'England ace John Stones snapped kissing mystery blonde in Manchester club,' and every bone in his body began to rattle and wretch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best again but I hoped you enjoyed. Thank you so much to everyone who is following this story :)


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is forced to receive yet another unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may delete and change this one as I'm not sure about it. But let me know what you think :)

The days had seemed shorter and lighter to John since his evening out with Kyle. He smiled joyfully at passing strangers in the street; enjoyed listening to the thin rattle of his daughter's laughter on the other end of the phone again; cooked delicious meals for himself in his freshly cleaned kitchen, savouring the scent and the taste of even the tiniest sprinkling of spice or herb he added to them. He partied at bars and clubs in the city and deliberately beamed into the camera whenever the press found and photographed him or a fan asked for a picture, in secret hope that Jordan would somehow see just how delightfully happy he was without him. He returned home for a few brief days to spend time with his parents and his sister, partly to reassure them that they didn't need to put him on some kind of suicide watch. But the change in setting and company had helped to soothe his continuous, gruelling thoughts of Jordan, and John felt the heavy weight of heart break being gradually lifted from his shoulders. 

He'd received some messages from Jordan since the night out, but he'd managed to remain controlled and ignored each one. Jordan had begged for a chance to explain, and even questioned John about whether or not he was seeing somebody new. 

"What do I tell him?" John had sighed to Kyle.

"He's no right to ask you that. Ignore and delete, mate," Kyle had replied firmly, and John had decided once more to take his advice. 

It was an unusually grey morning in July when John was cheerfully packing his bags to attend his first training session of pre-season, in preparation for City's upcoming tour. He hummed along to the music emanating from his radio as he prepared his breakfast (scrambled eggs, brown toast and beans) and whistled to himself cheerily as he jogged down his staircase in his training leggings. A warmth glowed in his chest at the thought of returning to work. He'd be glad to see the others again, he mused, and hoped that they'd still feel the same despite his deeds during the earlier half of their break. 

The morning was fading rapidly, and before long the illuminated digits on John's phone let him know that it was time to leave. He pulled his door closed swiftly, pressing the key into the lock and wincing a little at the unpleasant sound of the two metal plates scraping against each other. He tossed his bags into his boot, but suddenly became aware of the rumbling of a car engine in the distance, the rubber tyres scratching against the tarmac of his drive. He lifted his chin and spied a large, silver car rolling towards him. He squinted slightly, trying to decipher the registration, assuming it would be Kyle or Raheem swinging by to offer him a lift to training. However, as the car approached the drive, coming to a halt with a striking screech, John realised that it wasn't Kyle, nor was it Raheem. John didn't need to look at the registration any longer. He glared through the glass of the windscreen at the driver; at the covering of coarse, fair hair on his head, his large, pale hands coiled around the steering wheel, the splattering over freckles over his nose bone. It was Jordan. John felt his stomach flip inside him. Ignoring his messages was becoming increasingly easier, but John hadn't thought he'd have to face him in person this soon. John hurried towards his car door, panic rising in his chest, desperate to speed away before Jordan could catch up with him. But Jordan had already scampered out of the car, not even stopping to shut the door. John's eyes widened, and Jordan noticed his cheeks flush with rage, evidently furious with his arriving unannounced. 

"I've got places to be, Jordan. Go away," John spat. "Go home to your bird." 

Jordan raised his hands up, palms facing John, as though he was trying to shield himself from a blow. John scowled at him, and suddenly the morning air had a texture so dense that John could almost feel himself pushing against it like giant, elastic cobwebs outstretched in front of him. 

"John, please, you've got to just let me talk," Jordan begged.

"I don't want to hear it, I gave you enough chances." 

Jordan was silent for a beat, desperately trying to decide what to say to convince John to allow him to explain himself. 

"You're a head fuck, Jordan. You've been playing games with me this whole time, but I ain't playing anymore," John continued, high on the sound of his own unchallenged voice. 

"John, honestly," Jordan started. He tried to conceal the pain in his voice, but he failed ignominiously.

John swung the driver's seat door of his car open swiftly, no longer listening to the words streaming out of Jordan's mouth. 

"John, please," Jordan begged, grasping the sleeve of John's training top and attempting to pull him away from his car. John whisked around, arms flailing as he tried to slap Jordan's hands away. 

They observed each other's faces properly for the first time that morning. Jordan noticed that John's brow was furrowed, his nostrils were flared and his mouth was set into a straight, hard line. Heat prickled his throat; hateful, angry words swelling inside it. Jordan looked pale, his bullet shaped face gaunt and sickly, and a smear of acne lay across his chin like scarlet porridge. He looked at John pleadingly, a thousand emotions buried in the furrows of his brow and in the soft curves of his mouth. 

"I'm so sorry I hurt you again," Jordan said softly, his bottom lip trembling, his eyes shining with tears. 

John hated himself for it, but he found himself softening slightly. 

"Why did you do it, Jordan? Why tell me that you're going to leave her and then... not? Couldn't you have at least called to tell me you'd changed your mind?" John questioned. 

His expression was still filled with fury, but Jordan was thankful that John was asking questions rather than merely snapping at him now. At least questions provided an opportunity for him to explain some things, even if it wasn't everything. 

"I didn't," Jordan said firmly. 

John rolled his eyes and let out a breathy laugh, turning back to face his car, ready to get inside.

"John, please, don't, I - I - I broke up with her," Jordan said loudly. "I did. I did keep to my word, John. You don't understand." 

"Sure seems like you have," John sighed, opening his car door, ready to get inside and forget this encounter already. 

"John, the holiday photo wasn't what it looked like," Jordan said, his voice becoming higher pitched as he felt the sting of tears ready to flow at the back of his eyes. 

"Well, what was it then? Because it was pretty clear to me that it was a photo of you on holiday with your girl. The one you told me you were going to dump. Do you remember that Jordan, or do you have amnesia as well as a low IQ now?" 

John wanted to shovel the words back into his mouth as soon as he said them, feeling the graze of the hurt of Jordan's heart almost instantly. He watched as his warm, hopeful eyes filled up with sorrow. 

"No, John, it's just - we're not together. We're not," Jordan protested, trying to ignore John's insult, counselling himself that he was angry and probably hadn't meant it. 

"Why were you on holiday together then?" John bellowed. 

"We were co-parenting," Jordan spat back. "We're not together. I broke up with her the day after we got back from the finals. But we've still got our little boy, John," Jordan then sighed.

John's mouth made the shape of an O. Had he really been wrong all along? 

"We booked the holiday months back. We agreed that we still want to raise him together, the baby, like." Jordan continued, satisfied that John was now listening. "We don't want to be passing him from pillar to post, back and forth between Mummy and Daddy all the time, never getting time with the two of us together. I know he's only a baby and won't remember it, but we wanted to start as we mean to go on, like. So we agreed we'd do the holiday as planned - as a family. But that's all. Honestly, John, I'm looking for a new place and all now."

John's eyes widened until they resembled huge, glass orbs embedded in his skull. His mouth opened in disbelief. A happiness began to swell in his chest, but then it dropped again, and his face became tense and suspicious once more; eyes narrowed and cheek turned. Tension hung around them like fog. 

"Jordan, if that's true, why didn't you tell me first?"

"I should have," Jordan sighed. "But we said we said we'd get together when we'd both got things sorted. I didn't want to screw you around. I just thought it'd be best to wait until we'd done the holiday and discussed the house, financial support, all that stuff. But then I posted that photo without even thinking about how it'd look and I fucked it even harder." 

Kyle had been right the first time. Jordan really didn't want to screw him around anymore. John looked at Jordan's face closely, eyelashes spiked with light; crimson lips trembling; pale blue circles resting above his cheekbones. He resisted the urge to kiss him, knowing that he needed to think before he jumped. He peered at his watched, noting that he was already almost twenty minutes behind his planned schedule.

"Jordan, I really have to go now. I can't be late today. But me and you - we need to talk," John said firmly.

Jordan nodded several times, the hopefulness returning to his periwinkle eyes. John grasped his arm squeezed gently.

"I'm gonna go, but I'll text you. We'll pick a time and a place," John promised. 

"John, the girl -" 

"Silly drunken snog," John answered honestly, without allowing Jordan to finish his question. 

Then he whipped around, climbing quickly into the driver's seat of his car, leaving Jordan to watch as it sped away into the distance, a nervous feeling swirling in his belly. John couldn't decide if he felt happy or a fool.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


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